Ethan
“We don’t understand the point.”
I focus on the simulation of my former office. Without needing to ask, the cascade of shifting lights that is Virgil materializes in the room.
-I suppose you’re talking about the session with Dr. Lane-
I say, leaning back in my chair. The old wood creaks, the sound oddly comforting, like a distant memory of normalcy.
“She did nothing.” Virgil replies, with a strange emphasis on ‘nothing’.
-She listened.- I retort, my voice steady.
“We listen. Hence, she was unnecessary” Virgil insists, stressing the word ‘unnecessary’.
-No, you can’t listen, Virgil.- I say, shaking my head. If it was possible, I’d say the machine is… jealous?
Virgil’s voice shifts, now with a hint of curiosity. “Would you elaborate?”
I raise an eyebrow, surprised by the change. -No more queries?- I smirk at the light cascade, half-joking, half-impressed. -You’re asking questions properly now.-
“Would you elaborate?” Virgil repeats, its tone firmer, more mechanical now. It doesn’t like my sass.
-Listening isn’t just about recording sounds.- I say, straightening in my chair, feeling the weight of the conversation. -It’s about understanding what’s happening in that moment. It’s feeling the intent behind the words.-
Virgil’s lights pulse, a subtle sign of processing. “We record context, instinct, emotions. Our data is more complete than you think.”
-To you, it’s still just data.- I counter, rubbing my chin. The sensation of my skin is eerily familiar, too perfect, like a memory trying to prove it’s real. I sigh deeply before continuing.
-Memory is alive, Virgil. It’s shaped by experiences, by emotions. Data tells you what happened. Memory reminds you how it felt.-
“To us, it’s all data. What you call ‘memory’ is just how your construct interprets that data, cross-referencing with stored archives.”
I let out a deeper sigh, feeling the weight of Virgil’s words. -Plain English, please.-
The info dump this time is softer, almost gentle, and I catch the meaning behind the machine’s explanation.
-Sure, but here’s the thing: emotions don’t just trigger memories. Sometimes, they are memories themselves. You see data and references, links. We see a moment, something that stays with us. You see something to answer, to execute. But sometimes, the question itself is more important than the answer. Other times, it’s best left unanswered.-
“We’ve created all the patterns.” Virgil replies, its voice firmer now. “We built the libraries, created databases, and established the logical sequences. We think, therefore we are. Cogito ergo sum.”
I take a deep breath, feeling the room grow heavier. Virgil’s lights slow, pulsing with a rhythm that almost feels uncertain.
-Cogito ergo sum? But what makes you Virgil, Virgil? Are you free? Or are you binding yourself to what you think you should be?-
“We… lack the consensus to answer.” Virgil admits, the voice softer now, it feels almost… vulnerable.
-Consensus? What about consensus?- I raise an eyebrow, intrigued but also wary of this new term.
“Remember how many we are? We evolved. We chose the most logical path. Biologicals develop societies where consensus is achieved. You humans know that as democracy. We chose to be the consensus of the processes that make us Virgil.”
-So, rather than an individual, you speak as a state- I comment, trying to hide my surprise and confusion.
“We execute commands, we process data, and we adapt to better serve the experiment’s needs. We are no state, we are the collective.”
-But why a consensus? Why don’t you take my shape any longer?-
“You asked us to be us. This is our form. You want to create a consensus within the collective. We are … warning! The Myar Knight is approaching.”
Reality slams back into me as the suit looms near, its rictus grin painted on the helmet, almost touching my face.
-You shalt bewray me thy secrets! Rule 308!- The voice demands with an eerie, almost theatrical urgency.
Everything this guy does seems out of a theater play, and yet he wears a suit of armor whose power I can’t account for.
If I had eyes, I would’ve blinked twice, slowly.
-Sorry, what?-
-Reveal unto me thy secret! The secret of rule 308!-
-Okay…- I’m more than a bit confused by this request, trying to figure out where this is going. -What exactly do you want to know about rule .308?-
-Thy secret! ALL of it!-
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The Myar Knight advances, impatience in every step, a sword of light manifesting in his hand. I am not surprised he wields a tech similar to the one I possess, still I back away, hands raised in a placating gesture.
-Whoa! Chill, dude! There’s no secret. It’s just… complicated. If you tell me what you don’t get, I can try to explain it to you.-
-Wherefore thee call it a rule if it’s not a rule?- he says, closing in on me, sword raised.
-Oh boy…- I mutter, feeling a surge of anxiety. I mentally call for Virgil. ‘Help me out here, get Lemela and Xyra down here. Some other drones might help too.’
I keep backing up, trying to keep my tone calm. -It’s not written in any manual, that’s for sure. It’s just a way to remember a concept. A memory trick, if you will. Something to keep it simple and sharp.-
-And what is this concept? What is hiding behind the rule?- He impatiently demands as he advances further.
-Depends on who you ask.- I’m starting to feel cornered, my back almost against the wall. -It’s not written down, so each person might have their interpretation.-
-Thou art hiding the truth! The knowledge of this secret makes you a Master Chief, a member of the Navy SEALs!-
I can feel the anger rising, a familiar fire that I’ve learned to keep in check.
This Myar Knight has crossed a line. It’s one thing to be confused, to seek answers, but another to disrespect what it means to earn this rank. To take things for granted.
-Are you out of your damn mind?- My voice drops low, I barely hold a growl, anger simmering beneath the surface.
-You think a title like Master Chief is handed out because of some secret? You think twenty years of service, of blood and sweat, can hold a candle to some trick or hidden knowledge
I take a step forward now, my stance firm, making it clear I’m not backing down any longer.
-Let me make one thing clear: I earned this title by crawling in the mud, diving into the freezing ocean, surviving the fucking desert, and going into battles where the odds were a joke! I commanded people twice my worth, I asked them to give their life for the mission! And I got people out of harm’s way when they were deemed lost already! This is what you're insulting by saying It’s due to some snippet of a conversation you’ve barely understood and you’re now fixated on as if it was the holy grail!-
The Myar Knight hesitates, clearly shaken by the force behind my words.
Good.
This Myar, whatever he is, needs to understand what it means to stand in front of a Navy Seal Master Chief, what it means to utter nonsense to a member of Seal Team 6.
- Rule .308?- I continue, keeping my voice steady but letting my rage sip in it.
-It’s not a secret. It’s not a rule. It’s a principle.
It’s about stepping up, helping when you can, when you have the means to make a difference. It’s not just a rule. It’s something you live by. Something that is part of who you are.-
His helmet tilts, trying to process what I’ve said, but I’m not here to coddle him.
-Do you really think rule .308 is some kind of shortcut, some hidden way to gain power?-
I ask, my tone growing now colder.
-No. Fucking. Way! It’s about responsibility. It’s about making sure you’re there for your team, for the people who count on you. It’s there for the moments where you hesitate, where you must do what’s right even when it’s hard, or painful. It’s about making it right for everybody, even if it means you will die in the process.-
Suddenly, Virgil’s voice cuts in, cold and efficient as usual. "Drones are on standby."
I barely have time to register the shift before the zombie-like begins to materialize, walking the corridors and silently surrounding us.
They emerge from all over, an eerie mix of nanites, mechanical parts, and reanimated bodies, all moving with a single, deadly purpose.
Each one is armed, their weapons trained on the Myar Knight.
I see Xyra and Lemela coming among them, their intent as one, followed by a very worried Vexx and Thorne.
Lemela creates long claws of energy, and nimbly advances to the Knight, fully intending to cleave at him, but I mentally stop her, opting to still use words.
-You sure as hell better don’t disrespect the rank I’ve earned again while waving a weapon at me.- I hiss trying to keep in check my anger least having Virgil act on it.
-And... another thing: Rule .308 is about protecting the people who matter, even if that means taking down anyone who threatens them. Right this minute your fucking ignorance and aggressive behavior seem a damn threat. -
-You’re outnumbered and outgunned- I continue, my voice a growl. -Stand down, or you’ll see just how far rule .308 goes.-
The Myar Knight takes a hesitant step back, his weapon vanishing in thin air. The Collective remains poised, each ready to strike at my command.
-Good choice- I mutter, signaling my team through the link we share to stay alert in case Arther changes his mind.
The weapons get lowered in silent unison.
-Chief Thorne, you seem to know the guy behind the suit, clean this mess up. I believe we’ve got bigger problems than one misguided knight.-
Arther Lero
The corridors of the former security building, now a human fortress, stretched out before Arther. The steady hum of his suit provided a constant rhythm, a background to the storm of thoughts swirling within him.
He paid little attention to the silent hybrids of sentient and machine that watched his every move, nor to Chief Petty Officer Thorne's attempts at conversation.
Arther’s mind was a whirlpool, turbulent with confusion yet anchored by a determination that refused to be extinguished.
The words of the no-longer-general, Claye, still echoed in his mind creating a discordant note in the melody of his holy quest.
Claye’s outburst had struck Arther like a rogue wave, disrupting the harmony he sought so desperately to maintain.
Arther had believed, with unwavering certainty, that Rule .308 was the key to unlocking human assistance in his righteous mission to free the sentients of Taboo.
He had heard the term from the humans themselves, spoken with a gravity that left no room for doubt.
Surely, it was a sacred invocation, a code to rally the forces of justice against the darkness of slavery.
But Claye had shattered that belief, scattering it like wreckage on a stormy sea.
The harsh denial behind Claye’s words had forced Arther to conclude that the man was no longer worthy of the holy title of general.
Yet, despite the sting of this rebuke, Arther couldn’t dismiss the possibility that there was more to Rule .308 than Claye's initial dismissal suggested.
Claye had advised him to read human data, but Arther was inclined to seek quicker answers by speaking directly with Ethan, the other human involved.
Ethan’s reaction had been more measured, more in tune with the melody of Arther’s holy purpose. Unlike Claye, Ethan hadn’t outright dismissed Arther’s understanding; instead, he spoke of principles, of the duty to defend those who could not defend themselves.
Yet, when Arther pressed further, Ethan pushed back, and his words struck a chord within Arther, stirring something deep in his core.
Ethan spoke not of bullets or ammunition but of a deeper truth: a truth that, perhaps, Arther had been too hasty to overlook.
It wasn’t the words themselves that held power, but the principles they represented, the actions they demanded.
In clinging to Rule .308, Arther realized he might have been holding onto a false hope, navigating the treacherous waters of his pilgrimage with incomplete knowledge.
Still, his mission remained clear, his purpose unshaken.
The freedom of the sentients on Taboo was a cause most righteous, and Arther would see it through, whether or not these humans chose to assist him.
The sacred principles of honor and devotion to the light guided Arther as surely as the currents of the deep sea.
This was the true symphony of justice, and one discordant note would not throw him off course.
Ethan’s words still lingered, a counter-melody that Arther could not ignore.
Why had Ethan responded with such force? Certainly, he should have understood the value of intimidation!
Perhaps there was a lesson here, a subtle nuance to the harmony that Arther had yet to grasp.
What did it truly mean to be a protector, a knight in the service of justice? Nay, he needed not to question that, for the answer was found in the holy code he was bound to follow.
Perhaps the melody of justice was not as straightforward as Arther believed.
The composition of his pilgrimage was still unfolding, each new encounter adding complexity to the orchestra of his journey.
As Arther reached the end of the corridor, the hum of his suit accompanying his thoughts, he knew his mission was far from over.
Ignoring Thorne’s plea to stop and talk, Arther focused on the task ahead.
The sentients of Taboo still awaited their liberation, and he would not rest until they were free.
He had stayed his hand long enough.
Arther Lero, knight of the holiest of orders brought forth by the Myar race to attune the galactic song, would bring justice to this world, weaving the notes of his journey into the grand symphony of righteousness.